Demon Drabbles
by anonymouse27
Summary: A few drabbles as to what our favorite little demon gets up to. Self-explanatory really ;
1. Infidelity

**1. Infidelity**

Crowley had been unfaithful only once in the entire six millennia of his existence. The temptation was too great, he'd plead later. Everything had just happened so fast.

He'd heard of her before he'd actually met her. She was one of the few new models he'd actually agreed was quite beautiful. He'd first met her at a car dealership place. He was asked if he'd like to take her for a ride and Crowley had innocently* said yes. How was he to know it'd be love at first sight? All it took was that short ride and she'd had him wrapped around her little finger. He was putty in her hands.

Crowley heaved a sigh as he approached his former lover. He raised his hands in defence of the scathing looks she was throwing him. "Look, it's not my fault. How was I to know this would happen?"

"...Yes, but it could happen to anyone. Don't you blame this on her! She has nothing to do with it!..."

"Mummy, why is that man talking to his car?"

"Shh Tommy! Stay away from the strange man," said the woman, shielding her child.

"You're taking me to court for this?!... Yes I know!…Bu-But…"

The woman hurried away while her child peered curiously from behind the folds of her dress.

Crowley clutched at his his hair and yelled, "But she's a Lamborghini for crying out loud!"

On January 18th, 2008, Mr. A. J. Crowley lost the court case filed against him by his ex-car, the Bentley, for emotional and psychological abuse. The Bentley received half of Mr. Crowley's car insurance in settlements.

2 weeks later, the Lamborghini left Crowley for a computer genius billionaire.

* * *

A/N: The automobile, rare collectibles purchase agreement for the bently was signed by a Mr. Gates. Or was it Mr. Fence? My memory shall be my downfall.


	2. Eyewear

**2. Eyewear**

"Crowley," said Aziraphale one day, "Why do you insist on wearing sunglasses?"

The demon threw him a sceptical glance. "Well, in case you hadn't noticed over the pat six millennia, my eyes are hardly what most humans call normal."

"Nonsense, you know what I mean," said Aziraphale impatiently, "You could easily get away with those coloured eye things."

"Contacts? Nah, tried them once. Just made my eyes feel sore."

***

The contacts did honestly hurt his eyes, especially when they were accompanied by a pair of fingers poking them repeatedly. Humans, he'd muttered rubbing his eyes, they could put hell out of a job anyday.


	3. Shopping I

**3. Shopping I**

"What about this one?" asked Crowley, turning round to see his reflection from all sides.

"Yes my dear, it looks lovely," said Aziraphale tiredly.

"Hmm." He left the room and came back in 15 minutes later.

"What about these?"

"Terrific my dear, splendid. Absolutely wonderful."

The demon narrowed his eyes suspiciously and put on a really ugly pair of sunglasses.

"And these?" he asked, voice sceptical.

"The best ones you've tried on yet."

"You're lying." accused the demon.

"I am?"

"..."

Aziraphale finally looked up into the demon's unamused face. "But we've been here for _hours_ Crowley!" he whined. "And I'm hungry. Can we _please_ go to the Ritz now?"

"In a minute," replied the demon distractedly. "Now, tell me how these look."

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands and groaned. Hell might have no fury like a woman scorned, but there was no better substitute on Hell, Heaven or Earth for a demon's vanity. Especially if that demon went by the name A. J. Crowleyyouconceitedbastard. He'd bet his bookshop on it.

* * *

A/N: Re-vamped the ending a lil.


	4. Shopping II

**4. Shopping II**

"I'm not coming out."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a baby Aziraphale and let me have a look at you."

He'd finally done it. He'd done what centuries of changing fashions had not been able to do: he'd convinced Aziraphale to buy a pair of jeans. He deserved a medal from the fashion police just for getting Aziraphale _into_ Levi's.

"You'll just laugh at me."

"If you don't come out I'm coming in after you," threatened the demon.

"Fine." Aziraphale came out of the cubicle with a scowl plastered on his face.

Crowley did a double take. He actually looked…good.

Aziraphale eyed him warily. "You're laughing at me. I can tell. I'm taking them off," he said turning back towards the changing rooms.

"No! I mean, no. They look good on you. Seriously."

"I still prefer tartan to all this…_denim,_" said the blonde man with distaste.

"We're getting them," said Crowley to the amused sales assistant.

***

Well, thought Crowley to himself, that was one hurdle passed. Now, to get him out that awful tweed jacket of his. Crowley broke into a sweat as he paid for the jeans, thinking of trials ahead of him. This was going to be harder than averting Armageddon. It will be worth it in the end. He recited the mantra in his head twice as fast as he dragged Aziraphale away from _Terry's Tartan 'n' Tweed_. Crowley was just thankful they were immortals.


	5. History Lesson

**5. History lessons**

"Let us begin with the history of the door-to-door salesman.

_'Door-to-door salesmen have been around since 2000B.C., pedalling wares that were often completely useless and hardly ever did what they said in the advertisements, as was and remains to be the custom._

_To those of you who are learned on the subject of salesmanship, the miraculous hair tonic made of beetle dung or of the acclaimed skin rejuvenating properties of horse urine will be common knowledge to you. Neither of which actually work of course, as a singularly handsome black-haired man had the severe misfortune to find out later. But it was not nearly as severe as the punishment the two salesmen received of course- the records of which we have very few, but it is quite certain scorned women were involved._

_It was around this point in time that several salesmen were reported to have gone missing. This trend recurred throughout the ages, the only connection between the crimes being the presence of the aforementioned black-haired man. The man was investigated and no tangible piece of evidence could be found to deny his innocence. The man maintained that they just disappeared after leaving his household. He did mention that they looked slightly afraid though. From this point onwards the facts get a little sketchy._

_It is said that, 2 months after the investigation, on the man's chance trip to Antarctica to purchase sizable chunks of it, he discovered the missing salesmen of the ages; frozen solid in slabs of ice, dressed in outfits ranging in style from togas to top hats._

_Not knowing what else to do with them, and not wanting them on his property either, he sent the frozen men Down Below with a note telling the little buggers in the construction department to get creative. Which is why the road to hell is paved with frozen door-to-door salesmen and not good intentions; a common misconception.'  
_

Well there you have it kids," said the teacher snapping his book shut and sliding his sunglasses back up his nose. "The complete history of the humble salesman: what they do, the perils they face in their line of work and where they ultimately end up. That will be all for today."

Crowley dismissed his bewildered students with a wave and straightened out the black outfit he'd worn for as long as he could remember. He made a complicated gesture with his hands and replaced the tea in his mug for Chardonnay. He thought back to when this had all began.

Good intentions had been running low and Hell sent Crowley on a mission to find a suitable replacement for them. It'd been an accident really; he'd slipped for about the hundredth time clambering out of the bath to answer the door, only to find a salesman promoting wrinkle-removing ice cream.

He'd lost his temper and got a commendation from Hell for it.

Capturing them had been more fun than he'd anticipated. At first he'd just sent them to Antarctica but when he'd found Mr. Freeze, a private supplier of liquid nitrogen, he really began to get creative.


	6. Love

A/N: This was waaaay overdue. Lol.

* * *

Crowley looked into his hall mirror and straightened his tie, which for some unfathomable reason refused to lie straight. His mobile buzzed in his pocket. "Yes, yes, on my way now. Yes, I'm getting in my car as I speak... No, I'm not lying through my teeth. Yes _alright_." He slipped his car keys into his pocket and strode out the door.

...

"Are you ready to order, sirs?"

"Yes, I''d like to have the goose liver pate with a g-"

"Crawly?"

Crowley turned to look at the sun-glassed newcomer, chills running down his scales with faint recognition. His expression soured immediately.

"It's Crowley , actually," he said stiffly. "Richard, wasn't it? Unless you've decided to change in the last millennia or so."

"I decided Richard was too _old. _Going with Reinard for now. Ha! Ha! "

And that irritating, booming laugh.

"Still the same old Creepy Crawly," he smirked, slapping his fellow demon on the back. He glared at the waiter who scuttled away accordingly.

"Ahem."

Crowley lifted his face out of his hand and looked across the table at his dinner date.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce us, my dear?"

Reinard quirked an elegant eyebrow (something Crowley never managed to do as well) and smirked pushing Crowley out of the way where he couldn't interfere. "I do believe we've never had the pleasure of meeting," he purred. "Reinard Lionheart, at your service."

Aziraphale blushed from the man-like-creature's sudden proximity. "Oh," he said.

Bastard.

Crowley stood up. "That's it. We're leaving."

Frog-marching a very confused Aziraphale out of the restaurant and muttering a quick apologies to the waiters Crowley bundled Aziraphale into the bentley and drove off, swearing under his breath. Stupid Prick. Turning up out of nowhere and ruing a perfectly good lunch. Why if I- mumble mumble mumble...

"You're grinding your teeth, dear," said Aziraphale quietly, staring out of the window.

"Sorry."

"Old acquaintance?"

"Yeah." Crowley declined to say anything. Aziraphale waited. Crowley declined the invitation.

But he was never good with children and seeing as this silence was getting more pregnant by the minute- "Hewassmybrzs," he mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"He. Was. My. Brother." He repeated through gritted teeth.

"Oh."

Crowley had an older brother. It was not a very widely known fact and he'd rather keep it that way. You see, Crowley was not overly fond of his brother. Or moderately fond, or even vaguely fond for that matter. In fact it would probably be more accurate to say that he could hardly stomach the sight of him. And that was on a good day.

It was a classic, chronic, cliched case of over-achieving-older-brother-induced-jealousy syndrome; if Crowley tempted a priest (one had to start with the basics after all) then _Reinard_ got the old codger to turn it into a brothel. If Crowley went and devised the Spanish Armada (or took credit for it- which was more devious) then _Reinard_ had to go off and start the crusades.* It was sickening.

Still, he _had_ made the effort of showing his mug this century. Crowley smiled like a snake and pushed down on the accelerator. The bugger did like perfumes; perhaps he'd send him a bottle of _Parfum d'L'eau Sainte**_ for his next birthday.

* * *

*This is actually a fact; Richard the Lionheart did carry out the crusades.

**Translated into English: Perfume of Holy Water. Yes, Crowley hated him _that_ much.


	7. Hobbies

A/N: Regurgitating part of a story I've since taken down(for good reson). Liked this part tho~

* * *

If the plants were terrified when he was home in his usual mood, it was nothing compared to the fear with which they watched him now. Crowley was as unstoppable- and probably just as dangerous- as a force of nature.

Mind you, he would probably be the only force of nature singing Queen.

He turned around with a gleam in his eye and a sly smile on his lips. It was like watching a snake on legs- which, in a way, he was. He advanced casually towards the plants, a Homebase (c) plant mister in hand. The plants got as close as they could to one another without actually being in the same pot- they were shaking so hard they were in danger of losing their leaves.

He loomed over them for a moment, leeringly, casting their quivering forms into his shadow. He began by prowling around them slowly, like some predatory cat circling its prey just before the kill, squirting the mister every now and then.

The plants relaxed slightly; getting a good spray of water was always great for calming stressed roots.

He set his mister on the floor and reached down to pick up an especially fine specimen of _Neomarica gracilis_. It hardly reacted- the water had made it drowsy and relaxed. Drunken almost. He twirled the potted plant in his hands and perused the luscious green leaves with his long pale fingers, massaging it into a state of stupor and false security. "Now, my beautiessss," he hissed.

The plants froze, suddenly alert; hissing was never a good sign. "I have not been too happy asss of late. Not too happy at all." A collective shudder rippled through their leaves.

Still holding the plant, he walked towards a pair of glass sliding-doors, slid them open and walked out onto the balcony, still within earshot (or leafshot) of the trembling plants inside. "It'ssss nice up there issn't it? Very cool here… Very high… " He let his sentence dangle threateningly. All the plants inside were creating their own miniature earthquakes now.

The demon slowly lowered his sunglasses, fixing the petrified plant with a chilling stare. For a moment everything became still. It was as though the air had stopped moving in light of the gravity of the situation. He growled one word:

"Grow."

And in one simultaneous instant, twenty-five already flourishing plants shot into flower.

All at the wrong time of the year.

Crowley grinned, pleased with his work and set the blossoming plant down with the rest. Who said you needed green thumbs to be good at gardening?


End file.
